


I'll Be Home For Christmas

by fakefairy



Category: Naruto
Genre: Father Son Bonding, an aspect of kakashi's life i think we all needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 08:58:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10896027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fakefairy/pseuds/fakefairy
Summary: Young Kakashi Hatake wants nothing more than for his father to be there by his side on Christmas day - just one year, and he would be content. His father's promises were empty, however, and it seemed that for yet another year, he was only a no-show hero.





	I'll Be Home For Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story a few years back. I had hosted a giveaway in the Tumblr RP community, and this was, I believe, the top prize I had written. The winners gave me a prompt, and I wrote it. The writing is old, but I think this is one of my more prouder works. I can't believe I never uploaded it until now! I hope you all like it!

It had snowed that night in Konoha, the first snowfall in quite some time. Sitting on his bed with his knees pulled up to his chest, Kakashi peered out with longing, almost hoping to see his father walk up on the cobblestone path, safe and sound. It was already late, and Sakumo had promised the young boy that he would be back by Christmas Eve — lies. Would this be another Christmas that Kakashi would have to sit out alone? He knew that his father was an important man, one who had various duties and jobs to perform, one that often went out on missions for the village’s sake and bringing in income for the pair of them.

All the same, a touch of bitterness began to swirl in his heart, a crestfallen expression sliding across his countenance.

_"I’ll be home for Christmas this year, Kakashi. I promise."_

That was exactly what he said every year. The man had yet to act on his word. 

Head dropping, the boy closed his eyes and allowed a dejected sigh to pass. Glancing at the clock, he noted the time. He had been sitting there for three hours now, and it was nearing midnight.

There was no point in waiting any longer for a man who wouldn’t show his face.

Frown spreading across Kakashi’s lips, he stretched out his legs and lied back in bed, dark, expressionless eyes staring at the ceiling. Blink, breathe. Blink, breathe. Doing the same over and over, there was no change. Ears picked up on nothing but the sound of his breathing, the light sound of the foliage being rustled by the breeze from outside his window. No footsteps, no clicks of the door handle. No one opening the door, no warm voice to say, “I’m home!”

Nothing.

Why did he even bother getting his hopes up?

Deep down inside, a part of him understood that perhaps his father wasn’t able to make it home due to change in circumstances, having to deal with unexpected turn of events. Missions weren’t always smooth, perfect without error, no trace of a flaw. Things happened that simply couldn’t be helped, couldn’t be avoided, things they had to accept as they came along. But yet all the same, for what reason would he accept missions so close to the holidays if he truly didn’t plan on being home in time to celebrate it? Garbage, it was all a load of garbage.

 _"Maybe they’re mandatory missions. Maybe Dad has little choice in a say of whether or not he should go. But would the Hokage be so cruel? There are plenty of other shinobi perfectly capable of filling his shoes. Why him? Every single year…_ ”

Perhaps it really was by choice.

Small hands gripped the sheets beneath him, soft fabrics wrinkling as they balled up in tight fists. Soon, they we released and Kakashi sat up in bed, turning so that his legs dangled off the bed. Slowly, toes touched cold hardwood, then whole feet. Out of his room, he meandered around the house, as if to waste time — _just_ in case. Sakumo would burst through the door, and Kakashi would turn in glee, mirth a shimmer in his eyes. But alas, everyone had their hopes and dreams, and not all were destined to merge with the seams of reality. He had long since figured that out.

It seemed that he had done quite a bit of sighing that day, though now he couldn’t tell if it was out of sadness, frustration, annoyance, or maybe even a combination of the three. All that was certain was that his father was a no-show for yet another Christmas season, and it would be yet another year he would spend alone. Presents would have been left aside for a few days as usual before he finally caved, opening them days later, still with no one to see him in the act. Somehow, there was joy in being watched as he opened gifts, knowing that his father would have been content seeing  _him_ happy, and his father’s happiness, too, was his happiness. Sakumo’s presents were left aside, untouched, and they would be left wrapped even days after the big day. One morning, he remembered waking up to find the gifts gone, in place a small, simply, quickly scrawled note of thanks. His father had come home, only to have to leave yet again.

There was no big Christmas dinner for the two to share, something they would always plan, something that had become nothing more than wishful thinking. Always, the boy had to prepare something small on his own. Nothing extravagant, and easy to clean. It wasn’t anything he was unused to as his father was often away on missions, but he, too, had things to be preoccupied by, like being away at school and his studies. But around this time of year, it was different. It was  _supposed_ to be different.

The winter season was meant to be one filled with laughter and joy for all, a time for families to spend quality time with each other. Kakashi had no one else. He was always alone as it was, and he always thought that the holidays would meet a change in pace. Sadly, it was never the case. He knew it would be the same tomorrow night as well.

Just his luck, of course.

With a small grimace plastered to his face, the young Hatake sulked as he trudged into the kitchen, pouring himself a small glass of barley tea. He stood there for quite some time, staring at nothing in particular. The glass was emptied and placed in the sink, the pitcher of tea returned to the fridge. His movements had been slow as he’d gone to the bathroom, even slower still as he washed his hands and brushed his teeth. It had all become a habitual routine; he honestly didn’t know why it still hit him so hard every year, why he allowed himself to believe in his father’s empty promises. Nothing was going to change — not anytime soon, anyways — and Kakashi knew that.

He knew that better than a kid his age should have.

A bitter smile slid across his mouth, the corners beginning to twitch. He tried to imagine just how pathetic he looked, going about in the manner that he was. Kakashi had every right to be upset, though. Year after year, promises couldn’t be kept, and it was growing old. It was growing old fast.

Before long, he found himself curled up in bed, his body turned so that he was facing the window. One last chance. Onyx eyes watched for ten minutes more until he finally gave up, allowing eyelids to flutter to a close. It wasn’t long before he was out cold, body caving in to the exhaustion that he hadn’t felt in his anxiousness for his father to come home.

 _"That’s all right,_ " he had thought, just as he closed his eyes. " _It isn’t like this is anything new._ ”

Three quarters past two, it was quiet all around. Snow fell in a slow and gentle descent, the wind having disappeared. Street light illuminated the vicinity, somehow managing to give the snow a more beautiful, ethereal quality. In the silence of the night, there was nary a sound, civilians and shinobi alike locked tight in the comforts of their homes. It was Sakumo, however, that seemed to be the only one who was awake at such an odd hour. Snowflakes had caught in his long white hair, melting only seconds later. He left a trail of footprints where he walked, leaving his mark in the snow.

A gift in one hand, neatly wrapped with a large bow to top, he used his other to fish in his pockets for his keys, quietly unlocking the door. His feet had been wiped on the mat, and he removed his sandals once inside, neatly placing them on the shoe rack. Door locked, his eyes began to scan for his son, but naturally, he was nowhere in sight. Of course. He didn’t expect to see Kakashi awake, especially as late as it was. It was only then did he feel the wave of fatigue wash over him, and he slowly dragged himself to the couch to sleep.

This year for sure, Sakumo was going to be home for Christmas, just as he had promised.

Although he always felt terrible about it, he did have his reasons for never making it on time. Sometimes, the missions went awry and took longer than necessary. Other times, if he didn’t have enough traveling money to spend, he would take up smaller jobs here and there to get enough so that he could buy Kakashi another extra gift as a way of apologizing. Though each year, he never managed to make it home on time because of that, often arriving days after the holiday had ended. All he could do was carefully set the unwrapped gift in the boy’s room where he wouldn’t notice until later, but wouldn’t question when and how it had gotten there.

But this year, the gift was making it under the tree.

Groaning softly, the Hatake rose and swiftly grabbed the present, gently placing it beneath the dazzling tree, a ghostly trace of a smile etched upon his face. This year, he could be proud of himself as a father. This year, he could make his pride and joy happy. This year, Sakumo hadn’t been a failure.

That was his gift to himself.

Hours passed along, and the sun began to rise over the horizon line, resplendent rays shining down upon the village. Skies were clear and the snow had settled, the atmosphere holding the freshness of a wintry chill. Sunlight poured in through the window, momentarily blinding Kakashi as his eyes were pried open. Slipping a soft, groggy groan as he stretched, he began to sit up, hanging his head, gaze falling into his lap. Another Christmas with a no-show hero.

Cue another string of sighs.

Sparing a glance outside, even he had to note how nice it looked. Snow covered every last surface, and it was beautiful.

Pure aesthetics.

Getting out of bed was no challenge, despite the hour he had fallen asleep at. Naturally an early riser, it was no insurmountable feat. Feet slid into his slippers, and soon he was up on his feet. His morning routine never changed: use the bathroom, brush his teeth, wash his face, and comb his hair. Now, it was on to breakfast. Body still working on fully awakening, he hardly noticed the minute details, overlooking them all as he entered the kitchen area, opening the refrigerator door.

He missed the large pair of sandals, and he missed the keys on the counter. He missed the pair of legs dangling over the edge of the couch, and he missed the bush of white hair hanging over the other side. For Kakashi, it seemed like any ordinary morning without his father. There was no change. It was nothing special. Just another day. Just as if it wasn’t Christmas at all.

Grabbing the case of tofu, he took a small knife and opened it, carrying it to the sink to drain it of water. The tofu was cut in half, one part placed into a pot, soon to be filled with water. He’d let it boil for a while on its own as he cleaned up the remnants of last night’s dishes. The man on the couch began to stir from the noise, however, a yawn escaping tired lips, something Kakashi didn’t catch over the noise. Tofu warmed, he turned the stove’s burner off, draining the pot and putting the tofu in a bowl, drizzling lightly in soy sauce. He grabbed a pair of chopsticks, muttering a soft, “Itadakimasu.”

Just as he was about to cut a corner, he heard a fatigued voice mumble, “Kakashi?”

All movements halted. Had it been any other person, the chopsticks he was holding would have been dropped. But it was Kakashi, so he gently placed them across the bowl, slowly pivoting. Indubitably shocked, but he dared not show it. All he said in reply was a faint, “Dad.”

He was home. It was Christmas day and his father was  _home._

Sakumo’s movements were sluggish, but he came to a stand anyways. Kakashi’s gaze roamed over his father’s face, his once hardened expression softening to see weariness that was so evident in his eyes. Yet that familiar smile was worn all the same, the corners of his eyes wrinkling as they always did as the smile reached his eyes. The genuine smile of his father’s that never failed to put a grin on his own face.

“I told you I’d be home for Christmas, right?” Sakumo asked, tone soft and light. Turning his head towards the tree, he cracked another small grin. “Let’s go open those presents, shall we?”

Kakashi needed no further encouragement. Forgetting about eating altogether, he raced towards the Christmas tree faster than he’d ever needed to. It was in that moment he felt like a child, not that it was a bad thing. Young, he deserved to have a childhood. His father nonchalantly nudged the small gift wrapped in bright red paper, little snowflakes scattered all across it. A large white bow sat in the center of it, a little name tag beside it, reading: “Kakashi.”

Expression brightening, the boy reached out, plucking the bow off, removing the wrapping paper with care. Three small novels, fantasy-action-adventure based. He cocked his head to the side for a moment; he never cared much for reading for  _fun,_ but these were gifts from his  **father.** He’d give them a shot. A smile took its place upon his lips all the same, and he quietly thanked Sakumo, courteously dipping his head.

Here,” Kakashi said, holding out a long, narrow box. Its wrapping was neat and on point, tied carefully with bright blue ribbon. “For you.”

It was all he had gotten his father, but the gift hadn’t been overly cheap. A custom made wakizashi, measuring eighteen-inches in length. Crafted of the finest cherry wood, it was perfection. Its hilt didn’t have the typical simple woven braids. Wood carved and smoothed to perfection, minuscule stones adorning the hilt. Its sheath was of the same wood, beautiful ukiyo-e style illustrations going down each side.

“I was thinking about how your blade was getting worn and battered, so I pitched in all my money to get you that,” Kakashi mumbled, sheepishly rubbing the nape of his neck. “Sorry that it’s all I got you.”

The elder could hardly say anything, in awe at the sight of the blade — one of a kind and beautiful. Even more touching that it had come from his own son, and to think that every last ryō had been spent on it, it made it even more special.

“No, no,” Sakumo started, profusely waving his hands, “it’s perfect, Kakashi! I love it. Thank you.”

A flame of love flickered in the man’s eyes, the warmth growing as he looked down at his son. There wasn’t a moment’s hesitation as he reached down, embracing the small boy in a tight hug. Kakashi’s eyes widened in shock, lips parting as if to protest. But in the end, he simply smiled, circling his own arms around his father.

“Merry Christmas, Dad.”

“Merry Christmas, Kakashi. Sorry I wasn’t able to come home last night.”

“…it doesn’t matter, Dad. Don’t worry. All that matters is that you’re here  _now.”_


End file.
